Estrangement’s DEath, for now
A lot has been lost in my family of origin. That doesn’t mean there isn’t good in the past or there isn’t the possibility of good in the future, just that things have been lost that won’t be regained in quite the same way again.
In the wake of revelations of long kept family secrets and the unraveling of narratives and public images that were false, I began my own journey of repentance and healing. I was a young man, newly married, and a resolve rose up in me that my life and family would be different. I wouldn’t say all of that desire was healthy. It has needed to be sorted out and sanctified over the years. We don’t become healthy just by running away from what we fear, by trying to live in contradiction to the things we hate. It’s not that easy.
My journey took me through tangible encounters with God, deliverance, healing prayer, plenty of counseling, and other things - but mostly just good friendships. People listened to me, stayed present with me, saw me at my worst, and still stuck with me. Aside from encountering God, that was probably more healing than anything. What I never expected was that my emerging healing would eventually lead to the very difficult decision to cut off a relationship with someone close to me. I thought healing would mean everything would get better, but somehow it can lead to distance in relationship, not the closeness we might desire.
FORGIVENESS AND RECONCILIATION
I remember when years ago for the first time I heard that forgiveness is always possible because it’s a choice we alone make before God, but reconciliation is only possible if the parties involved agree on the wrongs committed in the first place. Forgiveness is simply releasing someone of a debt. It’s saying, “This person doesn’t owe me anymore.” It’s been helpful for me to check in with my own heart by asking the question, “Do I wish harm on the people who have offended me?” At times, I have. But in my own healing those feelings have softened into actually generally wishing well for those who hurt me. I even feel some kind of affection for them.
But that’s different than reconciliation. Reconciliation is not completely my choice like forgiveness is. I can desire it, but I can’t force other people into it. Sometimes, most of the time even, if reconciliation isn’t possible in the fullest sense we can still “live at peace” with others. The relationship might change. Maybe it’s not so intimate, contact isn’t as frequent, or trust isn’t as high. But we don’t have to reject one another. We can still stick with one another in the tension even if the relationship changes. But other times, and probably more rarely, no reconciliation is possible. Perhaps there are issues of safety for vulnerable people, maybe we are so co-dependent and manipulated we simply can’t stay and also be well, it might be the offense is serious and one party refuses to even acknowledge it, or maybe cyclical and unrepentant abuse is present. For any of these reasons or more, we might have to step away from a relationship.
So after years of relational cycles I could not free myself from, putting other people in danger by my stubborn insistence to attempt to reconcile, and getting lost in a fog of manipulative confusion I could not see through, I made the decision with my therapist, friends, and those to whom I’m spiritually accountable. I don’t care here to give the specific reasons why I made the choice I did, but over three years ago I picked up the phone, wanting to vomit, and told someone I loved we’d have to indefinitely but not permanently cease to be in contact. My counselor told me, “You may wish the other person would make this decision for you, but they won’t. They need you more than you need them. They need you to participate in this cycle. You’re going to have to be courageous and do something you may not want to do.”
So to be clear, the decision was mine. Not theirs. Even when they’ve repeatedly tried to push through my boundaries against my clear request, I’ve firmly resisted. But wanting to vomit as I did and sometimes do, I felt nothing of courage.
THE QUESTIONS OF ESTRANGEMENT
Not long after my choice the panic attacks started. Memories were flooding back into my mind. It’s like I had been working for so long to make things right with this person I never created the space for my body to react like it should have when I was a child. Sometimes I’d become disoriented or vomit as a memory resurfaced. I wouldn’t say any of them were new memories. I just wanted things to be fixed so badly I hadn’t taken the time in years to recall them specifically. I’ve experienced plenty of spiritual oppression in the past, but this felt like something different. It felt physical. I felt good spiritually and very connected to God’s Presence, but my body was doing something. Eventually someone I didn’t even know gave me a prophetic word, “This needs to happen. Your body should have done this when you were child, so God is making room. Let it happen, but it won’t last forever. Healing is coming soon.”
And it did. In time, my body began to heal. Trauma therapy helped. Prayer helped. More encounters with God happened. Again, friends have helped immensely. But still, as the waves have started to calm in this part of my journey, complicated emotions persist. As one compassionate friends reflected with me on the strangeness of estrangement, it does feel like it makes a mockery of our faith. Doesn’t it? So I spend some days questioning many things.
For many years, I questioned the facts of the abuse and the lies. It’s the result of being in a relationship defined by manipulation and secrecy. You learn to deeply, even shamefully, distrust your own thoughts all the time. This is where I’m experiencing the most healing. I know I didn’t make it up. It happened. I didn’t even exaggerate it. I can tell I’m healing because even recently when people question the facts or their seriousness, I don’t retreat. The truth is, when facts finally get substantiated they have consistently been worse than anything I could have even imagined. The truth is, there are more secrets than I will ever know. The truth is, I may never have enough evidence to prove the facts. But I know what happened.
There’s also the nagging question in my mind, “What will people think if they know I chose this estrangement?” More than one person, disagreeing with the choice I made, has used religious language to question how this choice could possibly be right. Often their comments contain a bit of, “If people know you’ve done this, they’d think your faith was a lie.” A narrative of shame causes them to assume I’ve kept this choice a secret. And for a minute, I want to believe them. But then I remember I haven’t kept it a secret. Many, many people around me know the circumstances of my choice and have even supported me in it. Many of them are the people I do ministry with, people I lead, or those I am submitted to. They know and have still loved me. But the threat of shame still exists.
There’s days people pass on messages to me from the one I’ve chosen to end contact with, unknowingly serving as a third party to break the boundaries I have set. I don’t blame them. It’s not their fault. They repeat familiar lines, “So and so says they love you so much and are so proud of you.” They rarely tell me they disagree with my choice, but I feel their suspicion. How could Joel cut off someone so obviously repentant and supportive? These comments blindside me at unlikely times and from unlikely sources, intrusions I did not choose from people who are most likely just trying to help and don’t know much of the story. It’s taken me years to realize these unpredictable comments do not require me to again tell the whole story, be forced into vulnerability, justify my decisions, or invite yet another person into the complexity of it all. So I just nod my head, gently purse my lips, and try to change the subject. It’s hard to know what to say.
Maybe it’s confusing to people because some of them perceive me as one who makes room in their life for people with all kinds of issues. People with addictions and people in the streets have found friendship with me, yes, and my capacities are higher for this kind of thing in part because of my childhood. It’s a resiliency I developed young. I’d like to think it’s something redemptive God can do with the dysfunction of our childhoods - deepens our love for challenging people. So sometimes it feels wrong for me to choose to not be in relationship this one person. “How could I show all these people mercy, but not here?” But then again, I draw boundaries with the broken people in my life all the time. I’ve welcomed them, yes, but I’ve also created distance between me and them when necessary, kept my kids away from them if they’re dangerous, and even kicked them out of our house if they disrespected our rules. Only a romanticized view of loving really broken people thinks doing so doesn’t involve the art of both welcome and walking away. Only an immature mercy can’t recognize the reality of relating to really hard people.
Other days, I’ve read and re-read Joshua Coleman’s semi-viral article in the Atlantic on the growing trend of estrangement in American families, especially as economic realities make it more plausible. Facebook must know I have my doubts, so it keeps shoving it in my face. I even have his book on my reading list for the future. Some days I wonder if I’m part of a growing problem in our culture, jumping on an individualistic bandwagon, or contributing to some wider decline in family values. I watch families and even whole communities stay connected through generations of dysfunction, and I wonder if I shouldn’t be doing the same. But then I see the way these loyalties have perpetuated abuse and harmed whole churches and communities. I can’t settle for that. And I pay attention to the way my stomach turns when I hear a song or watch a movie or read a meme that celebrates estrangement in families as a new kind of empowerment. Im not ok with that. I’m experiencing it, but I hate it. Maybe we have to choose it at times, but it’s nothing to be celebrated.
And then I see friends who have similar stories but have made different choices. Maybe they experienced abuse of an even worse kind but they still talk to that person or involve them in their lives. Some days, I think it represents a kind of nobleness and mercy I wish I could emulate. Sometimes I think I even smell some of God’s love in it. But then as I get to know them better I discover it isn’t as beautiful up close. They second-guess too even if in a different way - like I did before I cut off the relationship. They’re just currently on the other side of this ping-ponging back and forth, and either of us may end up making different decisions before it’s all over. Also, our stories, while similar, aren’t quite the same. And maybe we’re in different stages of our journey. They might detect something of God in my choices as well.
Sometimes I wonder if I will have regrets. Will time pass and this never get better? Will I get to say and hear all the things I hope? But I also can’t deny things are better, not worse, after my choice. I’m a better man, husband, and father these last three years. Sometimes letting a thing die allows room for new life. And if I didn’t let it die, I’m certain I’d have another set of regrets for keeping it alive. It’s not possible to have it all in life, right? Doesn’t saying yes to a good thing often require us to say no to other things? Increasingly, I’m content and happy in what I’ve said yes to and relieved although saddened to have finally said no to the other thing. But I still wonder about it all.
And this represents just some of the zigzagging in my head over this estrangement that feels so unnatural. Some days I feel it’s unnecessary and I must be the problem. What often brings me back to reality is the love of my wife, kids, and friends. When they affirm the growing confidence and courage they see in me, when I see my kids are safe and I’ve effectively kept certain abusive dynamics from them, and when I realize how truly content I am in my life, my marriage, and ministry - when people remind me, my soul quiets even in the uncertainty.
SCRIPTURE’S TENSION
Even the New Testament expresses this back and forth, although I’m wary of proof-texting to prove the rightness of my decision and don’t want to do that here. I simply want to highlight a tension.
On one hand -
Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. (Colossians 3:13)
Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. (Ephesians 4:2)
If someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently. But watch yourselves, or you may also be tempted. Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. (Galatians 6:1-2)
And on the other hand -
You must not associate with anyone who claims to be a brother or sister but is sexually immoral or greedy, an idolator or slanderer, a drunkard or swindler. Do not even eat with such people. (1 Corinthians 5:11)
Among them are Hymenaeus and Alexander, whom I have handed over to Satan to be taught not to blaspheme. (1 Timothy 1:20)
My point here is not a comprehensive survey of all these kinds of passages, which would be a worthwhile study. It’s simply to highlight the nuances. There’s different kinds of sins relevant to these passages - false teaching, sexual immorality, greediness, and more. We should make room for repentance, bear with one another’s faults, and certainly in all cases forgive. And yet, there are times we should remove people from our relational sphere and resist a false reconciliaton. Paul even goes so far as to mention by name dangerous and unrepentant people. Maybe key to navigating these passages is understanding the way we might drift from the truth by covering up the true nature of sin in relationships. Even our social capital, when shared carelessly with people, can inadvertently cover up the threat they pose to more vulnerable people. God’s desire is for exposure and restoration, not hiding. And what’s in secret will always hurt the most vulnerable among us. Exposure is tricky, because people who abuse often want us to cover for them and tell us that’s what love requires.
I’m not sure I can quote a verse to prove the rightness of my particular decision, but I know the internal tensions I feel are represented in the Scriptures. That gives me some kind of comfort. More than comfort, it’s created in me some kind of new desperation for the Spirit. “God, make sense of this for me. Guide me. Show me what to do.” And maybe that desperation is actually the point. In the midst of complicated relational dynamics, it might be more valuable to be desperate for God than to be sure we’re right.
DEATH AMONG THE LIVING
Regardless, estrangement is a kind of death among the living. For that reason, I don’t think it should be employed rashly or commonly in my life. The hard relationships are so often worth the staying and provide territory where God does really good work. I don’t want to become too comfortable with cutting someone off.
On the other hand, some relationships are already walking dead and spreading death wherever they go - even perpetuating death onto others. So when it’s time to get out of the morgue, it’s time to get out. I grew so weary of covering, pretending, and even lying to cover the death - all because I thought love and mercy required it. I’ve experienced sadness from my choice, but sometimes estrangement accurately reflects the true nature of the relationship. Increasingly, I’ll take the truth over the lies any day, no matter how sad the truth might be. Sadness is a worthy price for the truth.
I think for many years I feared setting boundaries, challenging the lies, and certainly ending the relationship because in part I was afraid this kind of death would cause a death in my own heart. Would I become emotionally unresponsive in some kind of way, less merciful, or less able to feel? These are real dangers, but they are the dangers of bitterness and resisting forgiveness. I’m learning they are not necessarily the dangers of creating distance when reconciliation is impossible. I’ve kicked people out of my house before but felt just as much love for them as when they walked in. Their behavior just made it impossible for us to relate to one another in a particular way. For now.
It’s that “for now” part that’s giving me hope these days. Even when I called this person, I told them our estrangement was “indefinite but not necessarily forever.” It felt to me like spiritually dangerous territory to say, “I will never talk to this person again.” It’s true, I don’t currently see a way forward and I feel released from trying to find or create the way forward. God knows I tried. But God can do His own thing in His own timing in this life or the next beyond my imagination. I don’t want to cut off the potential of discovering new possibilities, and part of keeping my heart soft has been keeping it open to hope. Maybe a miracle will happen. It would be wonderful if it did.
So - for now - some things are dead. But with Jesus, dead things don’t necessarily stay that way. For now, I will have unsettled days and unanswerable questions. But for now, I’m finding a kind of peace in the unsettledness. There’s a peace in Jesus’ love, a peace even in what I don’t know or can’t understand. For now, things look a certain way, and some days will be sadder than others. But that’s just for now. For now won’t be for always. Someway, somehow, in ways beyond me, God brings life out of graves.
